An Arrow in the Knee
by TChallaInTheBathTub
Summary: "No John. He literally took an arrow in the knee."


**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything here. I do own my arrow though.  
><strong>AN:** Well, for a while now, every time I am on the internet someone says "blah blah blah then I took an arrow in the knee" (I am sure everyone saw this!)  
>I was half asleep when this idea came to me and I wrote it, also half asleep (I totally blame my sleeping habits for this!) <p>

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><p>"What?" I looked up from a book I was reading. Alright, pretend to read so Sherlock won't make me help him with his new "human lab" experiment.<p>

He put down his scalpel which he "borrowed" from the morgue and fixed his eyes on me.

"I said Mycroft was planing on being the Prime Minster a few years ago." I have no idea how we jumped from "Sherlock do _NOT_ spill blood on the table" to this!

It has been a while since we last seen Mycroft, and I have a slight suspicion that Sherlock missed his brother, or probably just missed annoying him. Anyway, I put down my untouched book and gave him my full attention.

"Mycroft, as in your brother Mycroft Holmes."

"Yes John, how many Mycrofts do you know?"

"So, you're saying your brother was on the line to be the Prime Minster of our kingdom!" I said ignoring his sarcastic tone.

"Yes." He breathed impatiently.

Mycroft. A Prime Minister, god help the nation if that ever happen. Of course I didn't say that out loud, but I am sure Sherlock knew what I was thinking for he smirked at me. Out loud I asked "Why didn't he?" deep down, I knew it was a wrong thing to ask.

Sherlock came into the living room and sat on the couch with his violin bow in hand. His eyes were looking up and down like he was trying to find something hiding inside his beloved bow. I cleared my throat to draw his attention back to me.

"Well, he was going to be the Prime Minster," he looked at me with a creepy smile on his face. "But he took an arrow in the knee."

I blinked at him. Did I hear that right?

"What?"

He slammed his bow on the cushion looking at it in disapproval. I waited patiently.

"He took an arrow in the knee, so he quit." He answered me without giving me a glance while resumed the investigation on hand.

"Oh, you mean he did something wrong or I don't know, not good. So he quit?"

"No John. I mean he _literally_ took an arrow in the knee. Why would I say something if I don't mean it as it is?"

I was baffled, not a new thing living with Sherlock, but this was even in my new "normal things to happen to a person" list is definitely not normal. I shook my head and ignored his question.

"Never mind that. How did he get hit with an arrow?" My amazement was showing in my voice and he caught it easily. He took a handkerchief from somewhere and started to clean his shining bow.

"Accident, a shooting accident." He frowned at something I couldn't see then his eyes were on mine again. "He was practicing with some of his high class friends (I won't be mentioning any names here, the last thing I need is Mycfrot Holmes' friends coming after me too. I have enough people after my head, thank you very much) in the shooting range, and one of them accidentally shot Mycroft instead of the target."

My eye brows shot up too high they almost touched my hairline. Who would mistake _Mycroft Holmes_ with a target made of paper!

"How... Never mind, I don't want to know. But who uses arrows and bows these days anyway!" I mean, we do have guns now!

"Apparently my brother's friends do. Well, until he was hit with the arrow..."

"In the knee, I got it." I finished for him. We were silent for a few minutes. Sherlock was looking at his violin now for only god knows what while I was in deep thoughts.

"You said this happened a few years ago," at his nod I finished what I was saying. "He looks completely fine to me, why didn't he try again?"

Sherlock stopped his staring at the musical object and frowned thinking. After a moment he shrugged.

"I think he didn't like the danger involves in it."

"Like taking an arrow in the knee."

"Exactly."

If it wasn't for Sherlock too serious face, I would have laughed at this. I mean, come on, we are talking about _Mycroft_ Holmes here.

"So, he became a spy (plus a consulting government man plus whatever else he is!) instead."

"I would say a spy is too much, but yes, something like that."

"I see." I can somehow understand some of the stuff Sherlock does, but his brother is still something I can't fully comprehend. I nodded at him then went back to my book and he started to play the violin smoothly. 

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><p>The next time Mycroft Holmes showed up at our flat, he was carrying a case file for his brother, but as usual, Sherlock is too stubborn to admit he was bored and needed a distraction. I, on the other hand, was distracted enough. I could not take my eyes off Mycroft's knees.<p>

I didn't know which knee was it that Mycroft was hit in (Sherlock didn't mention it and I forgot to ask), so my eyes were altering between the two, like one of them will speak to me and yell "ME." or an invisible arrow would appear.

A sound of clearing throat brought me back to where I was. Both Holmes were looking at me.

"May I help you, Doctor?" Mycfort asked politely, but I could hear the hint of curiosity behind it.

"Ah, nothing nothing." I said reaching for my tea fast.

Sherlock snorted. "He is wondering about your arrow knee."

"Ah, I see." Mycroft looked annoyed. Not at me, but at his brother. "I knew you'll say something."

"He asked." My eyes shot up at Sherlock.

"What? I did not." He dismissed me with his hand, and Mycroft frowned at him.

"Well John, if you must know. Yes, what my younger brother told you did happen."

Hearing that form Mycroft deleted every single doubt from my mind, that man would not lie, I think.

He stood up leaving the file on the coffee table, but before he opened the door to leave, Sherlock said

"Why don't you tell John where you keep your arrow" his voice was full of sarcasm. I looked at Mycroft, but his face was blank as usual. The only reaction he gave was a sigh then he turned his gaze on me. I don't know why but I shuddered.

"It's in my study. Framed and hanging above the fireplace." I blinked. "Yes, I know people keep animals, guns et cetera et cetera. I keep my arrow."

"Why?" I said before I could stop myself. But you can't say it's not a normal thing to ask. Who keeps an arrow (one that ended their political career that is) in their study.

"Sentimental reasons, Doctor." He said like it was the most normal thing in the world, maybe it was and I am just far behind in all of the normal things people do. In this place, you never know.

Mycroft shot his brother another cold look and told him to think about the case (which is thankfully not related to national security this time) again then he was gone.

Suddenly Sherlock jumped out of his chair. "It's Lestrade. We have a case. Lets go." He was half the way through the stairs before remembering his coat which I had in my hand.

"Hey, Sherlock." I said handing him his coat and scarf. "Which knee?"

He stopped his fast typing on his phone and frowned, thinking again. "I don't know. I must have deleted it."

"You kept the whole story, but you deleted which knee was injured." I looked at him incredibly.

"It wasn't important." He said before dashing out of the building.

"Right." I shook my head for what it feels like the million times. I guess the mystery of which knee Mycroft Holmes took the arrow in, will never be solved.


End file.
